


The Parade of the Fallen

by HogwartsToAlexandria



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Ancient Equivalent of Anal Plug, Ancient Greece/Rome Elements, Character has put himself in this position willingly, Judgements and Trials, M/M, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Sentenced to Sexual Slavery, Sexual Slavery, Vague Fantasy Setting, public shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:21:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26359366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HogwartsToAlexandria/pseuds/HogwartsToAlexandria
Summary: Akhmena, of Akhlenhouse, today must face his verdict. Suspense is not of the essence, as for his crime of love to be compensated, there only lies one path — enslavement to the highest bearer of the City.It is, still, the day of his trial, for a good show, even when one knows the outcome, never goes amiss.
Relationships: Fallen Noble Man/Noble Man Held in High Esteem Claiming Him, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 41
Collections: We die afen and afen





	The Parade of the Fallen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nimble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimble/gifts).



> Hey dear recip! I'm still very new to writing any OW so I truly hope this is nice and you'll like my take on some of your wonderful tag-picks ;)

The Courts of Hellenstead had reached their verdict, and the entire congregation would be here to hear it pronounced. The City would be buzzing with the same energy it always had when the fate of a consort was decided upon, even more so when it happened to lead to a lifetime of service and submission, when the convict had first been well-born and bred to govern over their local community. Markets were fully stocked, banquets ready to be pillaged by hungry passers-by, houses of passage equally ready to welcome the hungry voyagers who would have made the journey to witness it all, and take care of their every need, starting with servicing their heavy cocks. 

Akhmena didn't think he would ever be ready for what was coming. Didn't ever think he would be sitting in the place of the accused when he had so often been standing in the balconies of the spectators. Didn't think he would ever do such a thing as put himself in a position to be stripped of all his possessions to be sold for nothing to the highest bearer of the moment. 

He had done everything right. Had listened to all of his mothers' advice, had followed all of the women's chants and psalms to the letter. The Goddesses might be laughing at his fate now. He sure didn't think he was worth more than pity at the moment. 

A convict was to be dispossessed of everything the minute the shackles were put around his neck, and wrists, and ankles, for a nobleman was never to appear so, and therefore, if you were to be arrested on whatever charge, you lost your ability to bear the noble plate. In its place, and for sole piece of garment, the chest of the fallen was to be bound in corsetry, as tight as it would take to steal the breath from potential shouts and protests. 

Akhmena could barely breathe when they dragged him to court, the sounds of the heavy chain links clicking away at the pavement of the tribunal's hallways. He followed without a fight, took one step at a time at a good rhythm — at as best a rhythm he could, what with the second of a convict's predicaments currently leaking down his naked thighs. He was open for the taking. Prepared for offering by his guards with thick and dirty fingers and as much of the saint oils as it had taken for him to be able to hold onto the bar of chastity with his inner muscles alone. 

Walking with a stick up one's backside was not comfortable. But then again, it wasn't meant to be. 

The sheer noise of the crowd is what struck Akhmena first once he and the guards made it to the inner Courts. The number and the volume of the people assembled to watch his falling sanctioned; he should have been more prepared for it; he had been to so many of his counterparts' declinings. 

He blinked, trying as hard as he could to let the noise and the light wash over him in a calming balm. His life in its entirety had been spent surrounded with just as much passion and drunken elation. This was different. It was as different as any two things could ever be. 

The chain that bound his wrists and ankles was suddenly pulled back, making him arch in an unnatural bow backwards as they were spun around yet another stick, and the guards maneuvered his body to put him into position. 

A convicted consort must bow in the fashion that suits his new position in the City. In other words, a consort fallen into disgrace must adopt the posturing of his new status, and show the assembled Courts and People his new use to society. 

Akhmena was moved and manhandled until his forehead rested on the cold stone of the floors, his arms pulled behind his back, straining his shoulders while his knees were made to buckle and meet the hard ground too, then again, in one last adjustment, his thighs were parted and the chains at his ankles spread to let the crowd witness his falling, and the polished wood spearing his bottom. 

It used to be Akhmena's favorite moment of the entire trials, the moment the decline was greatest, and his arousal peaked until it reached unmeasurable heights. It was assumed every Hellenman and Hellenwoman present was here to reach a number of satisfactions they could not be granted anywhere else, and Akhmena knew that before the Judge Bearers pronounced him guilty and enslaved, a majority of the audience would have splashed the paved floors with white seed, gauded on by the sight of his consort blood being dragged into a life of public use. 

His only hope now laid in the old sayings and scriptures, where it was engraved, both in stone and in the minds of the gathered City, that a man who is nothing no longer, must to another belong. His only hope indeed, was that he would belong to the one man he was in this position for to begin with. 

His only mistake, in 26 years of a life of riches, trying to marry a man the Goddesses had not chosen for him. It would be irony, and fate, that would let Akhmena be bought by him. The balance of his odds in the matter resided in the knowledge that the inhabitants of Hellenstead had always fancied a good story. And wouldn't that just be the case here? The fallen boy, consort of Akhlenhouse, disgraced for professing a love he was not entitled to in the public altar that was the hostel of the Nymphs. Talking to the higher powers, pleading, to be allowed the love his heart had picked, no matter his good intentions and otherwise appropriate living. 

His only hope, his only prospect — a dream, that which would prove that once again the City valued spectacle over true upholding of its moral code. 

And what a moral code that was. 

The stick burned the tender flesh inside him, would leave a mark surely, on the rim it pushed against every single time he breathed, as little ad that was, but Akhmena did not move. He did not protest. He waited. 

Hadrelios, of the house of Hadlen, had entered. He could tell, by the murmurs running through the crowd, by the loud, brash sound of the heavy twin doors of the Courts falling closed again, by the steps, just as heavy, and so much more meaningful than any other noise so far, that echoed up to his ears behind him. 

Hadrelios, highest bearer of Hellenstead in the year 703, had arrived and his sole presence in the hollow of the courts when he could have stayed up in the Judges' altar, was verdict enough. 

Akhmena felt tears forming at the corners of his eyes. He felt drool, gathering under his tongue. He felt a buzzing, much like that of the People, in his ears, except he knew it was his heart beating away in its cage. Hadrelios was here, and Hadrelios was pulling the spear out of him. The man Akhmena had disgraced himself for was claiming him, right here and right now.

The first push of the man's cock was enough to make Akhmena cry, harder than he ever had before, harder than he probably ever would in the future now that he knew that said future would be spent being owned by Hadrelios. 

The man did not spare him any of his strength, did not spare him any of his brute force as he fucked and fucked and fucked him so hard that Akhmena lost his position and found himself unshackled so as to accommodate the way Hadrelios used him more easily. The bearer had every right over their belongings, and so starting from the very moment they appeared into the pit to claim them. 

"You are mine," Hadrelios whispered, so softly that thinking back on it much much later, Akhmena would realize, not even the standing guard must have heard him — it was all for him, meant to be their promise, secret from everyone else even as Hadrelios dispossessed him of the last shred of capital he would ever have: his own body and mind.    
  



End file.
